Save Me
by LifeLineHeartLine
Summary: "I honestly have no idea what to do. I'm not sure anything like this has ever happened before." Brittana. Superhero!Santana.
1. Fighter

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story except the plot itself. I do not own the song Save Me by Remy Zero, Glee or any of the characters. This story is completely fictitious and if anything in this story relates to you or anyone you know in anyway, it is purely coincidence. _

_Just a little note, this is going to be my first multi-chapter fic and I know this chapter really sucks, so I'm sorry, I'm going to work to make the upcoming chapters really good. _

* * *

_**Chapter One: Fighter**_

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I don't know anything."

"God Damnit!" I slam the phone back into the receiver. I look up and see Noah Puckerman looking at me like I've gone crazy.

"Take it easy, Lopez. What's got your panties in such a tight twist?" He asks as he runs his hands over his head. I'm so happy he finally shaved that disgusting ferret off of his head.

"Nobody wants to give me a quote on the fact Mayor Goolsby is dumping toxic waste into the Hudson River. How the hell am I suppose to write an article about him without any quotes? That's right, I fucking can't." I huff out.

He laughs at me like the jerk he is, "Chill out, Lopez. Someone will give a quote eventually; you just gotta lure them in with the right pizzazz, ya know? Make them _want _to spill every single dirty secret they know about Dustin Goolsby."

I look at him incredulously, "And what's the right _pizzazz_, huh? What will make anyone want to tell me _anything_ if he's probably paying the whole city of New York to not say a damn word?"

"What do ya think, Lopez?" I give him a questioning look, "You gotta flirt with someone! You're smoking hot, I'm sure there's somebody who will get flustered enough to spill somethin'." Puck states like it's the most obvious thing in the entire world.

"Hell no, no way, I am not flirting with some gross middle aged man for a story. Not gonna happen." I respond looking at him with my nose scrunched up in disgust, "If you want to flirt and get me a quote, be my guest. But I'm in a relationship with a very beautiful girl who I am deeply in love with, and I promised myself when I got this job I wouldn't flirt for a story. I'm pretty sure it's my number one journalist rule."

"Alright, Lopez, relax. You don't gotta flirt. I'm sure an opportunity will show up. But hey, I have to go; the boss wants me to cover some press conference up in Boston. I'll see you on Monday."

"Ugh alright, bye Puck." I say as he grabs his leather jacket and goes.

"I guess it's time to do more research." I mutter to myself, still pissed about the fact that I'm basically at a dead end. I know that if I try hard enough, I will get dirt on him. I just have to keep searching.

I type the mayor's name into Google and go through pages and pages of his life, never finding anything that has to do with the toxic waste facility. I eventually zone out and start thinking about Brittany. And how Britt and I moved out to New York City a little over a year ago, right after we both graduated from William McKinley High School. I'm so unbelievably happy here in New York. I'm a journalist who sings on the weekends and Brittany's working for a Broadway dance company, we share a one-bedroom apartment down in Battery Park, and most of our friends moved into the city with us. Life couldn't get much better than this.

I'm brought out of my train of thoughts when I hear a notification go off from the computer. It's an e-mail. The message doesn't have a subject and it's from an anonymous sender. At first, I'm confused because I didn't know you could send e-mails anonymously, but then I decide to just open it and see what it says.

And now I'm even more confused.

The only thing it contains is an address but as I scroll down I notice that someone signed it.

_-The lady who you just spoke to on the phone._

That's fucking bullshit. Why would she make a big deal of sending me an anonymous e-mail and then sign the fucking thing like that when she knows, I know her name. This whole situation is so weird but my curiosity is starting to get the better of me. I think that's what makes me such a good journalist; I just havea natural curiosity. I also think that it may be the thing that will destroy me.

Before I leave I want to make sure this is an actual place and whoever sent this isn't leading me to a field where someone will brutally murder me. So I type the address into Google Maps and see that it's an actual industrial type building, I write the address down on a piece of paper then log out of my computer, grab my coat and my camera, and head out.

* * *

A ten-minute walk and a subway ride later I arrive at what I think is the toxic waste facility I've been trying to locate for quite some time. It looks pretty creepy and smells really nasty so I'm pretty sure I've found the right place. I find it weird how there's no security or electrified barbed-wired fences, but I also think that would make this place _way _too obvious. I start walking to the back of the building hoping that maybe I'll sneak in and out unnoticed.

I'm about to turn the corner when two men in hazardous waste suits exit the back door and walk away from where I am, I hurry to the door before it closes and slip through it.

Once I'm safely behind several empty barrels and I'm positive no one can see me, I pull out my camera and turn it on in case I need it. I peak around the barrel and don't see anyone but I _do _see a _giant _vat of toxic waste in the center of the facility. I try to find the best possible route to it and once I do, I take off.

When I get closer to the giant tub, I notice it has the hazardous waste symbol on the side of it so I decide to take a picture of it. The only problem is that I don't have any evidence to tie this facility with Goolsby. As I walk around it, I notice how it towers over me. I continue walking around it until I find a set of metal stairs that lead to the top of it. I grab onto the railing and start climbing. As I get closer to the actual material I realize that this might be a bad idea. The smell is getting worse and my eyes and throat are starting to burn. I push through it and get to the top; I'm about to take the picture when I hear someone running up the metal steps, before I can fully turn around, I'm being pushed into the huge pool of waste.

Everything starts happening in slow motion.

First I hear myself gasp.

Then I hear the splash.

Now I can't breathe.

It's burning my skin.

The waste is going into my ears.

And then I think of Brittany.

All of a sudden my fight kicks in. I start kicking as hard as I can to get to the surface, but the material is so thick I don't even know if I'm moving. I just keep thinking of Brittany, fighting, knowing that if I don't get myself out of this tub, no one will ever find me.

I'm running out of air but then I'm emerging at the surface, gasping for breath. I look to my left and see my camera starting to dissolve in the waste, I decide to leave it there, it's useless now and the waste will destroy what's left of it. I start dragging myself through the waste towards the metal stairs. When I get there I lift myself out of the hazardous material.

I've never felt pain like this before.

_Fuck. _I didn't realize how bad it actually hurt until now.

I try to get up but end up falling down the stairs. I start looking around for anything that could even help just a little bit.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a chemical shower meant for these types of situations.

I try to get up, but everything hurts too much so I end up dragging myself to the shower.

As soon as I get there I close the door, turn it on, and just sit at the bottom letting the liquid run over me.

The relief I feel is instantaneous.

Once I feel I am sufficiently clean, I turn off the shower. I just sit there for a few more minutes waiting for my strength to return. When it does, I get up and bolt out of the facility like a bat out of hell.

I'm soaking wet so I walk all the way back to my job to get my phone.

* * *

When I get back to my job, I pick up my phone and check my texts. I have five new text messages.

There are three from Britt and two from Rachel.

_**From Britt-Britt: **__Hey San! I just wanted to know how your article was going so far. Text me when you're about to leave so I know when to order the food so you can pick it up (:_

_**From Britt-Britt: **__P.S, I love you!_

_**From Berry: **__Hello, Santana. Since today is indeed a Friday, Quinn and I thought it would be a pleasurable idea to go out with all of our friends to a new club Puck found out about, although it is unfortunate he will not be attending with us due to the fact that he is in Boston, but you probably already knew that. Just let me know if you are going to join us. _

_**From Britt-Britt: **__Hey again, San! So Rachel just texted me (she probably just texted you, too) asking if we wanted to go out with everyone and I figured since we had date night last night we could out with everyone tonight. Just let me know what you want to do. (:_

_**From Rachel: **__If you come, Kurt wants you to wear that red dress that he bought for your birthday last year. _

_**To Rachel: **__Britt and I will be there. Also, tell Kurt I said okay. _

_**To Britt-Britt: **__I told Rachel that will be there tonight. I hope that's okay. P.S, I love you, too (:_

_**From Britt-Britt: **__Of course it's okay, San! (: I know you get off of work soon, so, I will see you when you get home! _

Sometimes I forget how much Rachel can say even if she's not talking. I chuckle to myself thinking about how weird it is that I am friends with her now. I decide that I am decently dry, so I get up and leave so I can go home and get ready to go out tonight.


	2. Strange

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story except the plot itself. I also do not own Smallville or the song Save Me. This story is completely fictitious and if anything in this story relates to you or anyone you know in anyway, it is purely coincidence._

_A/N: I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to update but I've been studying for finals and the regents so there hasn't been much time. Also, I changed to p.o.v to first person and corrected some things in the first chapter so you might want to re-read that. Anyway, I hope this makes up for it, and please review! _

_**Chapter Two: Strange**_

I was so pre-occupied thinking about tonight's plans that I had completely forgot about what happened at the facility earlier.

I stop in my tracks.

Holy shit.

I could've died.

I completely ignore the people bumping into me on the sidewalk.

I wonder if I'm okay. Physically, I feel fine. A little tired maybe, but that's about it.

And I don't feel like I'm going crazy, either. I feel the panic that was creeping up start to fade away. I reason with myself that if something was going to happen to me, it would have happened already.

I continue my walk home.

When I get into the apartment, I instantly smile. All the living room furniture – a couch, a coffee table, and a sofa chair – are all pushed against the far wall under the windows. In any other situation I'd probably be a little mad because there are most likely scratches on the hardwood floor and our asshole landlord notices everything. But when Brittany's dancing like that, I find it hard to feel any emotion other than absolute adoration.

I have always thought that Brittany was the single most beautiful girl in the entire world.

But when she dances, it's like she transforms into a fucking goddess.

She's so light on her feet she's practically floating.

I love her so fucking much.

"San?"

I jump.

I didn't realize she had stopped dancing and was now looking at me with a shy smile.

"Hey, Britt-Britt." I go over and hug tighter than ever before, knowing that I could be dead this very moment if I hadn't gotten out of that waste.

I pull away to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. "How was y-"

"San? Why do you smell like fish?" She says in a confused tone as she walks around me, sniffing my shirt.

"What do you mean, Britt?" I ask, chuckling nervously. I decided I wasn't going to tell her that I fell into that tub of toxic waste unless it's absolutely necessary. Not telling her may not be the best choice, 'cause she will get pissed when, not if, she finds out later, but I know if I told her she would worry about me even more than she does now and she would give me the 'San, I know this story could make your career, but there won't be a career if you're dead' lecture again.

"I mean you smell like fish, San. Not going to lie, it's pretty gross." She responds scrunching her nose up at the smell, and looking at me weird because I'm almost positive she noticed my nervous laugh. "Why are you nervous, San?"

Yup, she noticed.

That girl can read me like a damn book.

"Me? Nervous? I'm not nervous. You're right; I do smell like fish though. Puckerman tripped and dropped his tuna salad on me today at lunch. I'll just go…um…take a shower." I say awkwardly as I look everywhere but Brittany. I turn away and walk quickly through the bedroom into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I immediately get undressed and step in the shower, making the water as hot as possible without burning myself. Even though I soaked myself in that chemical shower I still feel gross, and apparently smell like fish. I practically scrub my skin raw and wash my hair a good four times trying to get this disgusting feeling to go away. I can't stop thinking about what happened. About how much it hurt, how much it burned. I'm afraid something bad may happen to me.

Maybe I'll die.

That thought makes me start to cry.

I don't want to die.

I love this place so much. I love Brittany so much. I don't want to leave her.

Oh, God.

Brittany. _Brittany._ She'd be destroyed if anything happened to me. I have to tell her. But I don't want her to worry. I'll tell her if something strange happens.

I look down at the knob to make the shower hotter when I realize the shower can't get any hotter. Confused, I step out from under the stream of steaming water, but I don't feel any difference in the temperature. Isn't it supposed to get really cold when you step away from steaming water? What the hell is going on? Why can't I feel the temperature? My skin isn't even getting red from how hot the water is. After a few more minutes of being seriously confused, I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself. Once I dry off, I pick up my phone to check the time. I nearly drop my phone when I realize I've been in the shower for almost forty-five minutes.

Now Britt's really going to know something is wrong.

I step out of the bathroom slowly, checking to see if Brittany's in the bedroom. She's not. I walk into the bedroom and put on my dress and heels before going to put on my makeup.

Once I'm done, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what's about to go down.

I hear the television on in the living room so that's the direction I head in. Brittany's sitting on the couch flicking through the channels. I walk up to her and when she doesn't look up at me, I sit down next to her, hoping she'll talk first.

She does.

She mutes the television then looks over at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. I know she can never stay mad at me. I can't stay mad at her either. She lifts up her arm, and I slid into her as she wraps her arm around my back. I hear her take in a breath.

"San, you know I love you and I try not to be overbearing when it comes to the risks of your job, but I need you to be honest with me. Did you chase a lead for Goolsby today?"

I sigh; knowing now that she asked, I couldn't lie. She's always been able to tell when I'm lying. "I know you do, Britt. And I love you, too. And I've told you already; I understand why you don't like the part of my job that entails chasing leads. But that's exactly what it is, part of my job. And yes, I did. I found out the address of the toxic waste facility he owns. That fucking sleezeball thinks he's going to get away with everything. Well, he's not going to. Not as long as I'm working on this story." I finish with a huff.

For whatever reason, talking about Goolsby really works me up. I look at Brittany and see a concerned look on her face. I knit my eyebrows together, confused as to why she's looking at me like that. "What's wrong, Britt?"

"You went to a toxic waste facility, by yourself? Knowing that the man who owns it could make it seem like you never existed at all?" Brittany states, starting to get upset, I understand why she looked like that now. "Santana, do you know how much danger you could've been in? Somebody could've killed you and nobody would've ever found you!"

Funny.

I had that same exact thought

I see tears start to make their way down Brittany's face.

"Oh, Britt, no, please don't cry. You know I hate it when you cry." I say, while wiping the tears away with the pad of my thumb.

"Santana, please, stop chasing this story. You know I would never ask you to give up a story for any other reason, but your life could be in danger. I can't lose you, San. " She cries, I feel my heart break a little when her voice cracks.

"I can't do that, Britt. This story could make my career. I get how worried you are, but I just can't give this up, I'm sorry." I mumble, hating that those words will probably make her even more upset. I pull her closer to me, kissing away the tears that are still rolling down her cheeks. I pull her on top of me as I lay down on the couch so both of us can be more comfortable.

She takes a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling, I hold her tighter. "I've told you this a thousand times and I know it's getting old, but there won't be a career if you're dead."

I grumble, knowing she's right. And I feel guilty for not telling her what happened at the facility. But if I say anything now, she'll beg me to drop this story and pout until she gets her way. I could never resist that damn pout. "How about a compromise? Next time I go to investigate something to do with this story, I'll bring Puck along with me. He always has my back." I suggest hopefully. I really hope Britt goes along with this.

Britt looks up at me with her watery eyes and gives me a barely noticeable nod before lying her head back down on my chest. "OK, San. But please be careful. I don't know what I'd do without you." She whimpers out as she sniffs.

"I promise, Britt. I'll be super careful." I tell her with a small smile. I rub her back with one hand while I hug her tighter to me with the other. She sighs into me. "No more tears, Britt, alright?" I ask her quietly. She nods, wiping her eyes.

"Unfortunately though, if you don't start getting ready now, we'll be late meeting Quinn and Rachel at the club." She goes to get up while smiling at me, but before I let her go I pull her down by the back of her neck and kiss her properly. She breaks the kiss and then pecks my lips one more time before getting up to go get ready.

While I wait for Britt to get ready I figure I might as well make a sandwich because I don't want to go out drinking with an empty stomach. I get up from the couch and head to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and decide to make a turkey sandwich. I take out all the things I need then place them on the counter. Once I successfully make the sandwich I go to cut it in half so Britt can have some if she wants, too. I'm about to cut the sandwich in half when Lord Tubbington jumps up onto the counter, scaring the living shit out of me. The knife slips and I end up cutting my palm. Pain surges through my hand. "Motherfucker." I mumble while I glare at Tubbs and go to grab a paper towel. I rip the towel off the stand and go to press it to my hand except when I look at my hand the cut is no longer there.

"What the fuck." I am so beyond confused right now? There was a deep fucking cut on my hand two seconds ago and now it's magically gone?

There's something so immensely wrong.

How could it be gone?

I mean I could've imagined it, but that can't be possible because that cut _hurt _like hell.

First I don't feel scolding hot water or the difference in air temperature and now a cut with blood coming out of it is just gone?

I'm so confused and baffled that when I come back to reality Britt is standing right in front of me, holding my face in her hands, staring at me with a concerned look on her face. "Britt? What're you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I was calling you from the bedroom and when you didn't respond I came out here to see what you were doing but you were just standing there holding a knife. I tried to get your attention but you were completely lost in your head. Are you okay, San?" She asks, as she takes the knife out of my hands and sets it on the counter behind her. She then reaches for my waist and tugs me closer to her.

"Yeah, I'm okay Britt. I was just making a sandwich for us so we didn't go out drinking with empty stomachs when I started to think about the story. I'm sorry I didn't answer, I was just so caught up thinking I was catching onto something Goolsby said, but it was nothing. I'm sorry." I lied. I hated lying to her and I'm sure she knows I'm lying but I don't want to worry her unless it's absolutely necessary.

"Okay, San." She states in a critical tone, side eyeing my while grabbing the sandwich and actually cutting it in half this time. She takes a bite, "I'm going to finish getting ready, finish that sandwich before we go though." She gives me a peck and then walks out of the kitchen.

Xxxxxxx

We arrive at the club a little after eight o'clock. Quinn and Rachel said they would meet Britt and I here 'cause they were running a little late. We show the bouncer our I.D's (fake, of course) and we walk in. It's crowded since it's a Friday night and I'm worried we won't be able to get a table. I practically yell so Britt can hear me over the loud bass. "Hey, Britt? Do you want to get a table now for all of us?"

She looks over at me trying to figure out what I just said and then, "Yeah, we should do that. I think there's one over there in the corner." She says pointing to the far left of the room. She grabs my hand so we don't lose each other and she leads me over to the table, which was thankfully vacant. We take our coats off and sit down. Not even five minutes later Quinn and Rachel are walking over to the table.

"Santana, Brittany, I feel like I haven't seen you guys in weeks! How are you?" Rachel rattles out the second she's close enough. Britt and I stand up to greet her and Quinn.

"Hey, Quinn." I state as I wrap my arms around her for a hug. "How've you been?"

"I've been good, I'm sorry we haven't spoken lately. I've just been so tied up with work and everything." She says guiltily, pulling out from our hug. "How are you, San? You look different. Like your skin is really nice and glowy." What the actual fuck. My skin is glowy.

"Fabray, what the hell are you talking about? My skin is glowy? What the fuck do you mean my skin is 'glowy'?" I ask her incredulously. She laughs.

"I just mean that it looks, different. Maybe glowy isn't the word. But it's different somehow."

"I'm just going to pretend we never had this conversation." I state as I walk away from her and go to greet Rachel.

"Hey, Rach." I yell over the music as I pull her into a quick hug.

"Hello, Santana." She yells back. Unwrapping from our hug. "How have you been? The last I heard, you were working on a story about Goolsby. Are you still doing that?"

"Yeah, I'm still working on that. I'm not really making any progress, but I'm trying my best to at least get _something _on him." I don't want to tell her about the toxic waste facility. Because even though I'm friends with Rachel now, she does still get carried away when she talks and I don't want her to accidently say something.

Our conversation ends soon after that and we move to sit at the table. Rachel slides in next to Quinn and I slide in next to Brittany. Brittany puts her hand on my thigh as soon as I sit down. She turns to me and asks, "Did Quinn mention anything about your skin to you? 'Cause she was talking about it before and I thought she was going crazy but now that you're sitting here I can totally see what she means." She whispers in my ear and then looking closely at my face.

"Yeah, she did mention it but I honestly have no idea what you guys are talking about. My skin doesn't look any different than it normally does." I don't even know anymore. I really don't. I must be going insane. "Does anybody want any drinks? 'Cause I sure as hell do." I ask so I can get away from here.

After I get everyone's drink orders and Rachel mentions my skin too, I get up and go to the bar and order the drinks. Once I get the drinks, I open a tab and point out who's also aloud to use it. I take the drinks back to our table and give them to the correct person. I slide back into the booth next to Brittany. We're all in the middle of the conversation when one of Brittany's favorite songs comes on.

"Ahh!" She squeals, bouncing in her seat. "I wanna dance!" I laugh at her adorableness as I climb out of the booth to let her get out. She grabs Rachel's hand and practically drags her to the dance floor. When I look back over to Quinn, she's laughing at Rachel trying to keep up with Brittany. I then quickly down my drink; I want to get as drunk as possible. I just want to be stress free and I don't want to think about the story at all. I tell Quinn I'm going to get another drink. When I get to the bar I order four shots and two Long Island Iced Teas. I know that may seem like a lot, but as small as I am, I'm not a lightweight. I quickly down the four shots and then carry my drinks back to the table. Quinn raises her eyebrow at me when she see's what I'm holding. "Thirsty?" She questions.

"Incredibly." I respond, smirking at her.

She laughs at my response. Taking a sip of her drink while I drink half of mine. "Damn, S. Slow down, I don't think Brittany wants to carry you home."

"Calm your tits, Q. I'm not a lightweight like you are." She rolls her eyes at that comment. I finish off my first Long Island Iced Tea and start on the second one.

Xxxxxx

By time we get home it's two in the morning and I'm neither drunk nor tired but Brittany is both. I help her change into pajamas before I help her lay down. Once she's under the blankets, I go over to our dresser and change into my pajamas. I climb into bed, the second Britt feels the bed dip she rolls over and rests her head on my shoulder and her arm across my stomach. I kiss her on the forehead, "Goodnight, Britt. I love you."

"Love you too, San." She slurs, before I hear her breathing even out, signaling that she's asleep. Even though I'm not tired, I figure that I should get some sleep, too.

Xxxxxx

I wake up at five-thirty the next morning. I look down and notice Britt is still sleeping on my chest. It's too damn early to be awake but I'm not even tired. I actually feel like I have loads of energy. I'm getting antsy just sitting here in bed, which is weird since I am normally _not_ a morning person. I decide to get up and go to the gym.

I give Britt a quick kiss on the forehead so she doesn't wake up and I leave the apartment at around six-thirty. By seven o'clock I'm at the gym and I'm already on the treadmill.

Three fucking hours go by and I realize I haven't gotten off of the treadmill and I didn't even break a sweat and I don't feel tired? What? I turn off the machine and wait for it to slow to a stop before I get off. I reach for my water and take a sip. I decide I'm going to go to Quinn's apartment as soon as possible because all these freaky things happening are starting to scare me.

I walk into the locker room in the back of the gym and go to my locker. I put my combination in but it doesn't work. I look up at the locker number to make sure I'm at the right one and I am. I try the lock again but it still wont open. Four attempts later and I'm a little pissed off. I grab the lock to pull it and let some of my frustration out but instead of it just clanging, the lock breaks.

The fucking _metal _lock breaks, in my bare hands.

I need to go seen Quinn. Now.

I shove the lock into my bag along with my cell phone and my water bottle. I bolt out of the gym and onto the streets of New York; I think about catching a taxi but choose to just run there instead.

Unfortunately, that wasn't such a good idea.

I'm about to turn the corner onto Quinn's street when out of nowhere a speeding taxi comes flying towards me. Before I can even react, I feel the impact.

I feel my ribs crack.

And my head smack the pavement.

A few people have started to surround me and I just want to get out of here before they call an ambulance. I try to get up but the pain is too much to bear. I lay still for a few seconds on the ground before I realize the pain is completely gone. Bewildered, I stand up and start running away from the crowd who thought I was going to die.

Not even a minute later I'm in Quinn's apartment building. I hit the button for the elevator and get on. Once I hit the floor number, I try to calm down. When the elevator dings and I step out onto Quinn's floor I'm sufficiently calmer than I was before.

I go to Quinn's apartment and I bang on the door as hard as I can, hoping Quinn will come and answer it. I wait a few minutes and listen for footsteps but there are none so I bang even harder. Out of nowhere the door flies open, revealing Quinn standing there with her hair messed up and her makeup smeared all over her face.

"Damn, Fabray. Took you long enough." I push past her and walk into the apartment, heading towards the kitchen.

"Sure, Santana, just come right in." I internally chuckle; Quinn is so sassy and sarcastic when she's hungover. "I was sleeping and stop talking so loud, it feels like there's a jack hammer in my brain." She groans, looking like she's going to hurl any minute now.

"You were sleeping? It's half past ten. And you never could hold you liquor. You didn't even have that much to drink last night, hell, I had more than you did and I'm totally fine." I state as I open the refrigerator and grab two bottles of water. I walk back into the living room and hand her one. She takes it and downs half the bottle in one go.

I know that although Quinn is a lightweight, she remembers _everything_ that happens, even if she's completely shitfaced. So I'm expecting the third degree on how the hell I don't have a hangover like she does when I drank twice the amount she did last night. She's bound to ask some questions sooner than later and I'm not going to deny her answers, even if I don't have many of them.

"Thanks, I was beyond thirsty. What're you doing here this early anyway? And why _don't _you have a hangover? You were downing drinks last night like it was going out of style." Quinn asks with a curios glint in her eyes and I know she's trying to figure me out. I look away from her gaze; I want to tell her before she figures it out for herself.

"Yeah, that's actually why I'm here. I need to talk to you about something really important." She looks like she's about to interrupt, but I hold my hand up, signaling for her to wait until I explain myself. "And before you ask, no, Brittany doesn't know and I don't plan on telling her until I figure out what the fuck is going on. I don't want to worry her." I look up at Quinn and see that she is giving me a questioning look. "Please don't tell her what I'm going to tell you, Quinn. It's weird and I don't know how to explain it and this is going to sound crazy but I need a chef's knife." On my way over here I decided that if Quinn didn't believe what I told her I would show her. I know that's insane and there's a possibility that I'm just crazy, but that car _broke _my fucking ribs and then the pain was gone. So I'm either going to stab myself and heal or I'm going to need an ambulance.

"I'm so confused right now. What don't you want me to tell Brittany? And why do you need a chef's knife? You're not making any sense." She looks at me like I'm from another planet. And honestly, at this point, who fucking knows anymore.

"I know I'm not making any sense but please just promise me you won't tell Brittany what I'm about to tell you." I beg.

"Fine, I promise. But now will you please tell me what is going on?" She huffs out as she falls back onto the couch. I sit down on the chair across from her. I rub my hands together, nervous, for what I'm about to tell her.

"Okay so yesterday I went chasing a lead on Goolsby-"

"Santana, what-" She interrupts.

"Just let me finish, Quinn." She nods. "I went to a toxic waste facility that he supposedly owns. I know he's been dumping hazardous waste into the Hudson River but no one believes me and no one will give me anything on it, but for some unknown reason, someone gave me the address to this place. So I went down to the facility and when I went inside there was a giant tub that was taller than I am with one of those hazardous waste symbols on it. So I start walking around it and on the other side there was a ladder-" She interrupts me again, her eyes wide.

"Santana, I swear to God-"

"Quinn! Just let me finish!" I practically yell at her. I just want to finish telling her what happened. She nods at me to go ahead.

"Anyway, I climbed up the ladder and as I was about to take a picture I heard someone climbing up the stairs, so I turned around but before I saw who it was they pushed me into the waste." I mumble out the last part really fast, knowing Quinn's going to flip out. But I continue quickly so she doesn't interrupt. "But I got out as quickly as I could and found one of those chemical showers made for situations like that and when I got out I was fine. I went back to work and then went home, but that's when weird stuff started to happen." I finish, signaling that Quinn can talk, though I know she's going to flip.

"What do you mean weird stuff? Why didn't you go to a hospital? Why don't we go to the hospital right now? This could be serious, Santana!" She gets up from her place on the couch and stalks over to me pulling me up from my seat and looking me up and down, checking for any physical injuries.

"No, Quinn. I can't go to the hospital."

"_What? _Why the fuck not?" She asks incredulously.

"Because something is not right. But if I go to the hospital, they'll use me as their fucking lab rat, and I don't want that, and I don't want Brittany to know." I say again.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Santana? Why would you be a lab rat? And why the fuck aren't you telling Brittany? You could've died!" She's yelling at me now.

"Do you think I don't know that I could've died? I know that, I thought I was going to! But for all intents and purposes at the moment, _I'm fine._ I don't want Britt to worry, I've said that already. And I'd be a lab rat because I have super powers?" I say the last part meekly, knowing she is either going to laugh in my face or drag me to the psych ward at the hospital.

She chose to do both.

"You're not serious, are you, Santana?" She laughs as she speaks. "Okay, I'm calling it, you've officially gone insane. I'm taking you to the hospital right now. Let's go." She states seriously as she grabs my hand and drags me towards the door. I grip her hand tighter and pull her back, forgetting the ordeal at the gym this morning, and end up flinging her halfway across the room onto the couch. Fuck.

"Fuck, Quinn." I run over to her to see if she's okay, but she's staring at me wide eyed.

"Holy shit. You were right. You just flung me over five feet with just one hand. Santana, how the hell did you do that?" She questions, understandably confused. Sitting up on the couch. I resume my previous seat on the chair.

"I told you. And I don't know. I just know that's not the _only _thing I _can _do." I look down at my hands, I'm terrified of what this means and if other powers come along.

"What else can you do?" She asks quietly, like she might be afraid of the answer but still needs to know more.

"Well, besides being eerily strong, I can't get drunk, hence the no hangover, I have awesome stamina, I ran for three hours this morning on the treadmill without breaking a sweat. I also can't feel temperature on my skin, only pressure. So you could put an iron on me and I wouldn't feel it. And last but not least, my injuries heal within seconds." As I'm saying this to her she's looking at me with untamed curiosity. To be honest, it's making me a little uncomfortable, but I know she just wants answers.

"How do you know you heal within seconds?"

"Yesterday, when I was cutting a sandwich in half Tubbs jumped up on the counter scaring the living shit out of me and I sliced my palm open and it hurt like hell but by time I went to cover it to stop the bleeding, it was gone." I shrug. "Also, I got hit by a car on my way here and broke my ribs but they healed barely thirty seconds later."

"No way, S. That's not possible." She doubts. But I know this was going to be the hard part to convince her of. That's why I asked for the knife in the beginning. But she never gave it to me. "Hold on, Q." I get up from my seat and walk to the kitchen. Once I'm there I go through the draws until I find the chef's knife. I sigh as I realize I'm most likely going to have to by her a new one after this.

As I walk back into the living room with the knife in my hand. Quinn gasps once she sees it. "Santana, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Quinn snaps at me.

"I'm going to prove to you that I heal."

"Give me the knife, Santana. This isn't funny. This is fucking serious. You could die. I can't let you do this, Santana." She says slowly getting up and starting to walk over to me.

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Quinn. Watch." I hold the knife in my left hand as I roll up my shirt with my right. Quinn is staring at me like she's not quite sure what to do. But before she can act on any decision, I put both hands on the handle and pull it full force into my stomach.

I expect to feel pain.

Except I don't.

Quinn is looking at me like I'm a fucking alien.

Confused, I look down, hoping I didn't heal with the blade in me.

But what I find shocks me more.

The blade is bent like a fucking accordion all the way up to the beginning of the handle.

"Well, that was unexpected." I say, shocked at what just happened.

She looks at me flabbergasted. "I though you said you _healed within seconds_. Not that you were fucking indestructible."

"Q," My voice shakes. Fuck, I'm about to start crying. I hate crying. But I hate the uncertainty of this whole situation more. "That wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't know I could do that." I whimper out.

"S, come here." She says warmly, opening her arms up to me. I walk over to her and she wraps me up in a tight 'it's going to be okay' hug. Except this time, I'm not so sure about that.


End file.
